


step right over the line (and onto borrowed time)

by impertinency



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Half-Sibling Incest, Hand Jobs, M/M, Post-Coital Cuddling, Power Dynamics, Rimming, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-16 18:06:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impertinency/pseuds/impertinency
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, on nights such as this one, Robb wants nothing more than to tumble into bed with his two closest friends and lovers, to kiss each bruise and cut on their bodies, to curl up between them as he listens to Theon and Jon snipe at each other, to keep them by his side where they belong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	step right over the line (and onto borrowed time)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Robb Stark Week](http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/robb-stark-week) on tumblr and because I will never turn down the opportunity to bring more Jon/Robb/Theon into fandom. My poor, perfect, underrated threesome ship of sass and angst.
> 
> Title from "Borrowed Time" by A Fine Frenzy because it's the perfect song for any Robb pairing.

 

There’s a moment, after the battle has been won, where adrenaline and battle lust slide away into fear and exhaustion. There’s a thrum of energy that pervades the camp, that burrows down deep into the men’s veins, makes them holler with pride and laughter. They drink and feast and jape, happy to be alive, happy to have won this last battle.

Robb can’t bring himself to share in their revelry. 

There’s an emptiness that fills him, a gnawing panic that makes his hands tremble and his thoughts grow troubled. After each battle, his men cry that it’s the North’s biggest victory to date, and the claim weighs heavy on his shoulders, makes him wonder if there’s a battle still to come that will be crowned as his biggest loss. He tries to shake off the thought as he walks among his men, as he stops to clap one man on the shoulder, to thank another for his service, to trade a jape with a third. He keeps moving, keeps talking, keeps smiling, and tries not to think of the stench of death that still lingers from the battlefield, the sound of men dying, the sights that will haunt him even in sleep. 

Tries not to think of how he is no more than a symbol now, something to be lumped in with the crown on his head and sword in his hand and wolf by his side.

He curls a tight hand in Grey Wind’s fur, feels his stomach roll with unease when he realizes his hands are covered with blood and dirt and grime. Robb sends a squire to fetch a basin of water, dips his still shaking hands into the cool water and watches as wisps of red cloud the once clear liquid. He wonders, sometimes, if the anxiety he feels after battle will ever go away. If there will ever come a time when he doesn’t dread the thought of battle.

The people call him a warrior and king and wolf, but Robb feels like nothing more than the boy who grew up in Winterfell, racing horses with Jon and practicing swords with Theon. He’d been so anxious to grow up then, to prove that he could follow in his father’s footsteps, that he could be strong and brave.

He’d give anything to return to those days again. He holds onto the memories of his childhood, buries them deep within his bones and muscles for safekeeping. He was stripped of them the moment his men decided to raise him up and place a crown on his head, the moment they made him into the man he wasn’t quite yet ready to become.

A surge of apprehension has been curled in his gut since he was named king, and the emotion keeps growing, snaking around his heart until he’s sure it will tear him apart. Robb wonders if the others can see it, if they’re aware that his fears and doubts threaten to strangle the life out of him on a daily basis.

It’s easy to lose himself in such thoughts (and lately he’s prone to doing so), and Robb curses himself for the way he starts when Jon comes up beside him, when he places a hand on his shoulder.

Jon stares at him, mouth turned down in a frown, his gaze sharp and piercing. He looks as though he knows what Robb’s thinking – and maybe, Robb thinks, he does. Jon has always known him better than anyone.

“Theon and I were waiting for you,” he says. “We weren’t sure if you were going to show.”

A muscle in Robb’s jaw twitches, and he lets his eyes slide away from Jon’s face to rest on the bandage spread thick across his arm. He reaches out to touch it, drops his hand halfway when he remember they’re out in the open where anyone can see. “You’re injured. I didn’t know.”

He feels that same panic and fear rise up again until it threatens to overwhelm him. What does it say about him, he wonders, that he didn’t even know his brother was injured in battle? He was the one who convinced Jon to come to war, the one who made Jon promise not to go off and die at the Wall. It was selfish and sentimental, and now he’s so caught up in his own struggles that he hadn’t even realized Jon had taken an injury. 

“It’s nothing. Just a small scrape,” Jon says softly. “Theon took care of it.”

“And Theon?” Robb asks, hating that he even needs to ask.

“He claims he was injured, but it’s more talk than anything,” Jon says. His tone is more affectionate than annoyed, a far cry from the feelings Jon had about Theon less than a year ago.

“Oh. Good.” He feels a crushing sense of relief, and it must show on his face because Jon sighs and pushes at his shoulder.

“Come on,” he says. “You’re going to collapse if you don’t sit down.”

Robb doesn’t protest, just lets Jon lead him back to Robb’s tent in silence. Their wolves pad along beside them, and Robb feels his lips twitch in amusement when they curl up together outside the tent flaps. 

Theon’s already inside, sprawled on the makeshift camp bed and picking at a tray of food. He grins lazily at them and raises a hand in a half-hearted greeting. 

“I thought I told you not to eat the food,” Jon snaps. “It was meant for Robb.”

“I was hungry and he was late,” Theon says, shrugging. He picks at a piece of meat on the tray, licks the grease off his fingers as he watches them.

“It’s okay,” Robb says. He curls his fingers around Jon’s hand, rubs his thumb across the pulsepoint of Jon’s wrist softly. “I’m not hungry right now.”

Jon studies his face, and there’s a flicker of doubt and worry that flashes across his face. Robb knows his brother isn’t happy, and he watches as Jon’s lips grow thin in disapproval as he moves to help Robb take off his armor. He removes each piece in silence and Robb is content to let him work, closes his eyes and breathes in the scent of his brother, smiles when Jon’s hair tickles his skin. Jon’s hands are steady and sure and strong, and they linger as he undresses Robb, his fingers soft where they brush against Robb’s exposed skin. There’s an urgency to his touch, a neediness that only comes after battle, and Robb knows that this is Jon’s way of reassuring himself that Robb is alive and whole.

He doesn’t mind. Understands, even.

After the Whispering Wood, he’d been high on battle lust and energy and excitement. Had found an abandoned alcove of trees and pushed Jon up against one, had kissed him fast and rough and desperate even while they were still covered in armor stained with blood and sweat. He hadn’t been able to express that utter relief at knowing his brother was neither dead nor injured.

He still doesn’t know how to express that relief, even now. His senses and thoughts are clouded and muddled, and his relief still wars with an anxiety and weariness that seeps deep into his bones.

Jon seems to sense his mood, and he looks up him with fond exasperation. “I’m fine. Theon’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about tonight,” he says. He curls a hand around Robb’s neck, uses it to draw Robb down so he can kiss him, hungry and possessive all at once.

Robb sighs into his mouth, wraps one arm around Jon’s waist to pull him flush against his chest. Jon’s still wearing his shirt, and the linen is scratchy against his skin. He slips a hand underneath the material, presses his fingers against the skin of Jon’s lower back, smiling when it makes Jon suck in a sharp breath.

He leaves a lazy kiss on the corner of Jon’s mouth before he pulls back, resting his forehead against his brother’s. “I’m glad you’re here with me,” he murmurs, the words quiet enough that only Jon can hear them.

Jon smiles, slides his hand into Robb’s curls and pulls him back down for another kiss. “So am I,” he says between kisses. 

He’ll be forever grateful that Jon agreed to ride to war with him, and he doesn’t even want to entertain the thought of what he would’ve done without his brother by his side. Doesn’t want to think of the way his heart would have torn open if Jon had left him after they had only just confessed their feelings for each other.

He has Theon to thank for that, in some roundabout way. Just as he has Theon to thank for starting this strange and twisted thing between the three of them all those months ago.

Theon’s watching them now from his spot on the bed, eyes narrowed in interest as the food and wine lay forgotten by his side. He’s rarely assists Jon in undressing Robb, had once made a comment about not being anyone’s squire when Jon had asked him to help. Robb thinks it’s because he likes to watch the two of them, likes watching Jon tend to Robb while Theon sits back and soaks it in. For as long as the three of them have been fooling around, Theon has liked to make them come to him. 

It’s the one power Robb affords him. He could easily put a stop to it, could make Theon come to him, but he knows that whatever they have between them would cease at such an action. Theon balks when he’s given commands, grows sullen when he’s reminded that he has no true power over Robb.

And sometimes, on nights such as this one, Robb is too tired, too world-weary to put up a fight. Sometimes he wants the security of his two closest friends and lovers beside him, doesn’t want to place peacekeeper or king or lord. Sometimes he wants nothing more than to tumble into bed with them, to kiss each bruise and cut on their bodies, to curl up between them as he listens to Theon and Jon snipe at each other.

Which is why he doesn’t put up a fuss when Jon strips him of the rest of his garments. Jon touches him with a quiet confidence as he leads Robb back toward the bed, his hands gentle and firm as he shoves Robb onto the bed.

“Didn’t want Greyjoy to get jealous,” he says, his grin quick and sharp.

“As if I’d ever be jealous of you, Snow,” Theon says. 

Robb feels him shift on the bed, and he cranes his neck around just in time to catch the fleeting amusement on Theon’s face. It makes something content stretch out inside him, and he wonders if he’ll ever have the words to tell them both what it means to see them getting along. Because for all that Theon and Jon still snipe at each other endlessly, there’s now something familiar and affectionate beneath their hard words. He doesn’t think he’ll ever have the courage to admit that it warms his heart to know that they do care for each other, that they’ve expressed worry for each other’s safety on the battlefield. 

One day, he thinks, he’ll be the one to sit back and watch them fumble atop the furs. Watch them fuck with the same energy and arrogance they put into their disagreements.

But that will have to be another day. Now he wants them both. He reaches for Theon, wraps a hand around his shoulder and tugs him forward until their mouths meet. Theon’s kisses are always harder and rougher than Jon’s. Theon likes to bite down on Robb’s lip when he kisses, likes to draw blood that he can lick away until his kisses taste of nothing but iron.

Theon grins against Robb’s mouth, curls a hand over Robb’s hip, his nails digging in until he leaves behind a series of half-crescent marks. “Good enough for you, Your Grace?” he asks. He tastes of wine and honey, and Robb isn’t entirely sure whether it’s the taste or his kisses that makes him moan.

His hands find the collar of Theon’s shirt, and he twists his fingers in the material, pulls Theon closer. He laughs when the material stretches and tears, when Theon curses and whines about his torn shirt.

“You can borrow one of mine. Or Jon’s,” he says, mouthing at Theon’s neck. He licks a line up the column of Theon’s neck, pleased when it makes Theon shudder and grow silent.

Theon’s cock is hard in his breeches, and Robb palms it lazily, grinning when Theon automatically bucks into his hand. He keeps one hand braced on Theon’s collarbone while he uses the other to unlace the ties of his breeches. Theon lifts his hips when Robb urges him, kicks away the garment as soon as Robb’s gotten them over his hips. 

Robb nips at the curve of Theon’s jaw, pushes him back against the bed, covers Theon’s body with his own. He’s distantly aware of the sound of Jon undressing behind him, of the bed dipping when Jon kneels behind him. Jon bends down, kisses Robb’s right shoulder, then his left, before leaving a trail of wet, sloppy kisses down the length of his spine.

“How do you want it tonight?” he asks. He bites at the skin of Robb’s hip, inches from Theon’s hands.

“I think Snow should put that pretty mouth to good use,” Theon says.

“I could say the same thing about yours, Greyjoy,” Jon says. He places a kiss on the back of Robb’s thighs, nips at the sensitive skin there. Robb jerks at the feeling, can feel Jon’s smirk against his skin.

Robb wants them both, but he knows he’ll never last long enough for that. 

“Theon on his back,” he finally says, ignoring Theon’s disgruntled look.

He already has Theon pressed down against the furs, and he looks so pretty spread out like this that Robb is loathe to make him move. Theon looks like he’s going to protest, so Robb leans down and kisses him silent, curls a hand in his hair and tugs until Theon is moaning into his mouth. He sees Jon move out of the corner of his eye, reaching for the oil that’s become a staple in their routine.

“Jon’s going to get you ready,” he whispers against Theon’s lips. 

Theon’s customary scowl slides away into a look of conflicted pleasure when Jon’s fingers circle around his entrance. It’s a tight fight, and Robb slaps Theon on thigh, making him raise his hips and give Jon more room. Robb sits back on his heels as he watches them, strokes his own cock slowly as he watches Jon slip two fingers inside Theon. Theon lets out a low moan, bits down on it when Robb sends him a glare, a silent warning to keep quiet.

He may have a tent far removed from everyone else, and Ghost and Grey Wind may be keeping guard outside, but there’s still a chance they could get caught.

Robb leans forward, wraps a hand around Jon’s middle and hooks his chin over Jon’s shoulder as he watches Jon get Theon ready. Theon lets out a gasp when Jon slips in a third finger in, whines and curses at Jon, begs him to pump his fingers harder.

“Quiet,” Robb warns. “Or I’ll make Jon gag you.”

Theon looks at them both with annoyance and perhaps a flicker of desire. Robb knows Theon hates (pretends to hate) when Jon gets one over on him, and Robb sometimes lets it happen just to see the arousal and anger flash through Theon’s eyes. They’ve always taken turns fucking each other, but Theon never takes it well, always complains his way through his orgasm when he’s on the bottom.

He’s complaining now, telling Jon that he uses his fingers better, that Jon has no skill or finesse. 

“I could make this last all night,” Jon says, twisting his fingers in a way that makes Theon’s cock twitch. “I don’t have to get you off right now.”

Robb laughs, delighted at Jon’s sass (but then, he’s always delighted when Jon’s sarcasm shines through since it’s so very different from the usual dour demeanor his brother carries). Jon smiles, moves so that he can lean up and capture Robb’s lips for a kiss. He licks his way into Robb’s mouth while he pumps his fingers inside Theon, and when they pull away, Theon’s watching them with dark eyes, leering as he strokes his cock.

“I think he’s ready,” Robb whispers, his own cock heavy where is rests against his stomach.

Jon slides his fingers out of Theon without a word, moving to wrap his still slick hand around Robb’s cock a second later. Robb moans as he thrusts into the circle of Jon’s hand, his cock hot and ready and aching with need. Jon kisses him again, cards a hand through Robb’s curls and pulls on them in a way that makes Robb whine and buck into Jon’s hand.

“I think you’re ready, too,” Jon says, smiling. Robb would smack him for his insolence if he wasn’t so utterly distracted right now. Instead, he pushes at Jon’s shoulder, nods at him to move closer to Theon.

He takes a second to watch as Jon leans down to kiss Theon, watches the way both of them struggle for dominance even in something as simple as a kiss. He keeps his eyes on them as he places his hands on Theon’s thighs, urging him to spread them wide. Theon does so without complaint, lifts his hips when Robb places a hand on Theon’s hip to steady himself. He groans when he slides into Theon, and Robb takes a moment to adjust before he starts to thrust, keeping his pace slow.

Jon and Theon are still kissing, and Jon swallows each whimper Theon makes whenever Robb thrusts into him. Eventually, Jon rolls to the side, and Theon whispers something Robb can’t hear, something that makes Jon let out a low, surprised laugh. 

Robb twists his hips as he watches them, feels pleased when it makes Theon’s eyelashes flutter shut in surprise. Jon looks at him, lips quirking, and leans up above Theon to give Robb a quick, bruising kiss before disappearing out of view. Robb doesn’t get a chance to ask where he’s going before Theon’s winding an arm around Robb’s neck and pulling him down so he can place open-mouthed kisses against Robb’s jaw. 

“Don’t worry about Snow,” Theon says, grunting when Robb bites at his collarbone. “He’s just putting his mouth to good use like I said he should.”

Robb has no idea what he means, and he makes to look over his shoulder, but a firm hand on his lower back stops him. 

“No,” Jon says, stroking his fingers lightly along Robb’s spine. The touch makes him shiver. “Turn back around.”

And then, _the_ , Jon is behind him, his hands gentle as he palms and squeezes Robb’s ass. Robb can feel Jon’s warm breath against his skin and his eyes widen in surprise. They’ve only done this once before and then it had been Theon doing it to Jon, and Robb had watched as Jon fell apart beneath Theon, as he had squirmed and writhed and moaned louder than any whore.

Robb does turn around this time, stares at Jon in shock as his brother licks a wet stripe up his ass. Robb swears and jumps, and his hips drive into Theon which such force that Theon lets out an embarrassingly loud moan. Jon looks up at Robb from beneath his lashes, his gaze coy and cocky as he runs his tongue around Robb’s entrance. Robb whimpers, feels his own legs start to tingle at the pressure and he turns back around, drops his head forward to rest against Theon’s shoulder.

“Too much,” he pants. “I can’t….I can’t. Oh, _gods_.” He yelps when Jon presses his tongue flat against him, when he licks deeper and longer.

“You can take it, Stark,” Theon says. He slaps Robb on the hip in encouragement, rakes his nails across the tender skin of Robb’s back. Jon nips at the skin on the swell of his ass at the same time, and the combined feeling of Jon’s tongue and Theon’s fingers makes Robb buck against Theon, makes him bite back on the groan that keeps threatening to escape. Because this is more intensity than he’s ever felt before, more than he thinks his body is able to take.

He rocks his hips against Theon, and he’s so close, knows he’s almost there. He’s all but panting against Theon’s neck, and he reaches up to grab one of Theon’s hands, reaches back with his other hand and tangles it with one of Jon’s.

“Romantic brat,” Theon mumbles, but Robb can see the small, pleased smile on his lips.

Robb’s muscles ache and he snaps his hips against Theon again, mumbles both their names in a way that he knows sounds too affectionate. It makes Jon hum in pleasure and amusement and the vibration is all that it takes to make Robb shudder with release. He slides out of Theon a moment later, slumps on top of him, boneless and sated, ignoring the way Theon grumbles about his weight.

He feels Jon pushing at his shoulder a moment later, and Robb tips his head back to look at Jon, smiles when Jon leans down to kiss him, running a hand through Robb’s sweaty curls. He lets Jon manhandle him out of the way, too lazy to move himself. He watches with half-lidded eyes as Jon hovers over Theon, kissing him deep. Jon curls a hand around Theon’s cock and strokes him with an agonizingly slow pace. Jon rubs his own cock against Theon’s leg as he bites at the curve of Theon’s neck, grunting with pleasure and arousal and he speeds the pace of his strokes.

Theon’s a writhing mess beneath Jon, and Robb watches them with fascination, his cock twitching slightly. He’s too breathless at the moment to even think of joining them, so he waits for Jon to finish Theon off, content to bask in the afterglow.

“Get on with it, Snow. I’ve waited long enough,” Theon says.

“So’ve I,” Jon pants as he frots against Theon’s leg with a rhythm that’s too jerky to be graceful. He come a second later, spurting hot and slick over Theon’s hip, his seed running down Theon’s leg.

Theon whines – and Robb has no idea if it’s in disgust or arousal – and follows him, spilling all over Jon’s hand. He slumps back on the bed, closes his eyes and grunts when Robb immediately cuddles up next to him. Jon rolls his eyes at the both of them and leans over the bed to reach for Theon’s discarded shirt. He wipes himself up first, then takes care of Robb, and finally Theon, who opens his eyes to watch Jon with narrowed eyes.

“You weren’t going to be using it again,” Jon says with a shrug, throwing it back onto the ground. He crawls behind Robb after he’s finished, tangles his legs with Robb’s and slides an arm over his stomach. He noses at Robb’s curls, kisses his neck with a gentleness and love that makes Robb smile. Theon’s still grumbling on his other side, but he sneaks a kiss to Robb’s shoulder every so often.

“We should leave soon before someone comes looking for you,” Theon says. 

Jon and Theon don’t usually stay after they’ve finished. They used to once, back in Winterfell when it was easier not to get caught. But ever since they’ve been at war, they’ve crept back to their own tents, mindful of the damage it would do if somewhere were to find out about them. Theon usually leaves first, followed by Jon some moments later. But Robb doesn’t want them to leave now. He wants to keep them here by his side for as long as possible.

Theon makes to move off the bed, and Robb grabs him by the wrist, watches as the muscles in Theon’s back tense in surprise.

“Stay,” he says, and he ignores how desperate and needy it sounds. “As your king, I command it.”

Jon lets out a huff of laughter behind him, leans up to rest his chin on Robb’s shoulder as he stares at Theon. “Stop being an ass, Greyjoy, and get back into bed. Your king commanded it,” he says, voice low with amusement.

Theon sighs and rolls his eyes, but that’s all it takes for him to crawl back onto the bed, pressed up close against Robb’s side. Robb curls an arm around Theon’s waist, slides the other into Jon’s hair, and smiles, finally content enough to let the anxiety and adrenaline from earlier fade away.


End file.
